A woman wandered by in a midriff baring outfit circa, well, the Renaissance. She was sucking on a bottle of water and chatting with a young man also in period dress. So what, you say?
Well, she was obviously pregnant and I’m thinking that was not the normal way of announcing one’s good news back in ye old Renaissance. I joked that maybe the young man was a bargain chastity belt salesman and she wanted her money back.
In case you’re wondering where I’m getting this, my husband and I spent the day at the Minnesota Renaissance Festival. I always think our State Fair offers spectacular people watching, but then I go to the Renaissance Festival. Oh. My. Gosh. Up the quirky factor by 1000.
I have to believe musty, dusty, fantasies get aired out in this collage of buildings and themes honoring a time of wenches, knaves, Kings, Queens, and the black plague.
The costumes worn by the attendees range from fabulously detailed and specific to the Renaissance period, to plastic and vinyl dime store Halloween costumes. Pretty much anything goes and people wander about with a certain dazed pleasure on their faces.
Even the animals get into the fantasy. One couple was luring a large, kilt-wearing, turtle around the grounds. The turtle pulled a tiny wooden wagon and encouraged monetary tips based on nothing beyond the cuteness factor. Dogs are adorned in all manor of garb with fairy wings and jester collars common sightings.
But back to the human factor…one tall, blond, and stately woman was scantily clad in period costume and busy heckling passing attendees. She wanted folks to try the food at the concession selling authentic Renaissance Caribbean Jerky. (???)
With the breast buffet going by, and by that I mean the women wearing corsets that allowed their rib melons to spill over low-bodices, I was surprised my hubby was staring at this blond willow.I mean sure, she had long legs amply exposed through a slit skirt, but so did many of the attendees.
After he came too from his happy-fog, he began to frown.
“Wait a minute!” he said. “Is she… a man?”
I took a sip of Diet Coke. “Yep.”
“Really? She, I mean he, looks really, really, good.”
I took another sip and put my free arm around my deflated man. “I didn’t want to pop your bubble, Babe, but sometimes just believing in the goods presented is the better way to go.”
He looked so disappointed I had to laugh. Fantasies take us down some interesting paths. They can twist and turn and invite possibility. And yet if you wander too far, if you look too close, those fantasies tend to end on reality street.
It was the breast of times and the, um, knockwurst of times, but the best part of my day.